Hunting April

by Danica St. Como

  "April, I don't make offers unless I'm serious. I took the liberty of moving your bags while you were snoozing. You have your own bathroom, too." Glennon headed for the door. "Make yourself comfortable. I have work downstairs that needs finishing.

  Don't be alarmed if you hear noises. I wander around at all hours."

  "Thanks. Really."

  He nodded, then pulled the door closed behind him. Let's see what else you may have buried, April Alicia Hall.

  Chapter Two

  Friday morning, early

  Screams ripped through the apartment like the shriek of a wild animal. Glock in hand, Glennon crouched at his bedroom door before going through, then padded silently to the source of the cries. He cautiously opened the guest room door.

  April thrashed under the bedclothes, the screams reduced to whimpers.

  He clicked on the reading lamp. The Glock was too heavy to stay in his waistband, so he placed it on the bed within reach. April lay face down in her pillows, still lashing out.

  "April, whoa, knock it off, you're going to hurt yourself." Desperate to stop her, he grabbed the edges of the bedspread, trapped her against the mattress so she didn't do any more damage to herself.

  " No . . . no . . . !"

  "April, it's me, wake up . . . it's Glennon . . . Glennon. Garrett. Remember?"

  The struggling eased a bit.

  "Mr. Garrett?" The pillows muffled her voice.

  "Yeah, it's me. You're okay, you're fine now, you had a bad dream. I'm here.

  You're safe."

  She quieted down, stopped struggling. He knew he'd need to check the wound again.

  "Hon, I'm going to let go of the blanket, but I need you to stay still for a moment, all right? Don't twist around, or you'll be bleeding again. Okay?"

  "Uh huh, okay." Still tense, but no longer flailing.

  She'd changed into a sleeveless tank top with thin little straps and hip-hugger panties for bed. When Glennon folded the bedclothes back, he saw that her top had ridden up her back.

  "Sweet Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell?"

  Pale stripes, some reddened, some still pink, crisscrossed her flesh, from shoulders to waist. The shallow slices appeared only recently healed, some of them barely closed. Exposed, April struggled to turn over, but Glennon's strong hands held her in place until she lay still. He lifted her shirt to the back of her neck, then pulled the blankets down to her ankles. Crosshatched scars covered her from her shoulders to the backs of her thighs. Someone's been clever. Scars that won't show when she's dressed and out in public.

  He finally released her.

  Heeding his warning, she turned carefully onto her back, then pulled the sheet to her chin.

  "What the fuck is going on, April? Are you into serious kink? Something I should know about?"

  She couldn't meet his gaze; her glances darted around the room."You weren't meant to see. No one was ever meant to see."

  Furious at the signs of abuse, he took the handgun from the bed, stared at it for a long moment, then placed it on the dresser. "Martone?"

  April pulled the sheet up to her eyes.

  "April, don't fuck with me. Is that Martone's handiwork?"

  She nodded.

  "Why?"

  Wordless, she shook her head.

  "April—"

  She mumbled behind the edge of the sheet. "Because."

  "Woman, I'm in no damn mood to play twenty questions. Would you rather I turned you over to the cops? I'm sure the detectives at the Sex Crimes Unit would love to get their hands on this. Throw in the Martone family connection for good measure, and you'll be the authorities' new best friend."

  She lowered the sheet to her neck. "Fine. Because I wouldn't listen to him. He told me never to leave his house. I told him to fuck off, then I walked away. Well, I tried to walk away. Valuable lesson learned: never turn your back on Angelo Martone. He keeps a neat and nifty little leather bootlace flogger hidden in the pocket of his dressing gown. Who knew?"

  "So, you didn't join him in playing sick sex games?"

  April glared at him. "Are you out of your rock-picking mind?"

  He shrugged. "Hey, look, I had to ask. Some people are into weird and kinky. For all I know, you had a master-slave dom-sub thing goin' on."

  "Fuck off, Mr. Garrett!" She tried to swing her feet out of bed, but they tangled in the blankets. "Thanks for the help. I'm outta here."

  Glennon collared one of her ankles in an iron grip. He grinned. "Yeah, I can see where you could give a guy a real pain in the nuts. Settle down, you're not going anywhere. Let me check the bandage, after all your twisting and squirming."

  Her eyes still blazing, her posture still stiff, April laid back on the pillows. She lifted the bottom edge of her little nothing of a shirt to expose the bandage. Glennon didn't glance at her face, but he knew there was definitely a fuck you, buddy expression going on there.

  He found it difficult to ignore the nipples outlined through the thin material, and the perfect under-curve of her breasts that was barely visible. He carefully lifted the bottom edge of the bandage. "Not too bad, just a bit of seepage. You didn't tear the edges loose. Keep still. I need the first aid kit."

  He had the wound clean and dry again in a matter of moments. Making another trip to his bathroom, he came back with a couple of nighttime pain relief capsules and a glass of water. "Take these." Gathering up the old bandages and tape, he gave her a hard look.

  "I don't know what other monsters lurk in your East Coast closet, April Hall, but I swear that you're currently out of harm's way. Even from Martone. You need to heal, and you need rest to heal properly. You might consider listening. I speak with the voice of experience. Many years of experience. Now, are you settled? Do you need anything?

  Ice cream sundae? Shot of Patrón?"

  "A root beer float would be good." She grinned at his expression. "Just kidding.

  No, thank you. I'm all right now."

  "Great. Fine. Wonderful. Now do you think I can go back to sleep?"

  She nodded, her stark black tresses falling into her face.

  "We really need to do something about that hair."

  * * * * *

  Sleep would not come. Glennon rolled onto his back, arm under his head. For a lightweight, the girl has balls. She even might have lasted a few more days out on the street. She proved herself a quick study, smart enough to avoid using services that could be tracked electronically. Smart enough to disguise her unique hair and eyes.

  How could any man beat a woman into submission? Glennon knew it happened all the time, but he still didn't understand it. If a situation became intolerable, the simple solution would be to break off the relationship. Say adios.

  He chuckled at the image of such a petite woman stomping a big beefy guy like Martone in the cojones, then bashing him over the head. She had chutzpah, he'd give her that much. A woman like April should be valued and treasured, cared for. Whoa, Garrett, get a grip! He'd made a good life for himself, a good life without emotional encumbrances. He traveled as he pleased. He enjoyed company when he had an itch that needed scratching, but no steady female companion. He liked his life.

  Glennon rolled over on his stomach, hugged his pillow. When his eyes closed, the image of April Hall's delicate body replaced the pillow in his arms. His cock hardened. Again. He ground his hips into the mattress, then opened his eyes with a start. Oh man, this is so not good.

  * * * * *

  April hadn't lied to Glennon about being exhausted. Afraid to drop her guard, her method of survival had been power naps. After her embarrassing little nightmare episode, she'd been sure that she would drop right off to sleep. Yet, slumber eluded her.

  Restless, she sat up, wrapped her arms around bended knees.

  It didn't make any sense, but she finally felt secure in the penthouse apartment of a man she knew less than a day. A tough and competent man, with an incredible physique. The unruly sandy hair and crystal blue peepers don't hurt, either. He's
really beautiful. Easy on the eyes. He made no attempt to beat her into submission, and he fed her pizza. Plus, he offered her a room of her own, if she wanted to stay until she was healed, until she got her strength back.

  Sitting upright caused too much pressure on her wounded side, so she squiggled down into bed, then pulled the bedclothes neatly to her waist. She laced her fingers loosely above the bandage, closed her eyes, hoped the pain reliever would help her sleep. The image of hard muscles flexing under a tight shirt invaded her mind. Her nipples immediately perked to attention, followed by a warm feeling that nestled between her thighs. She couldn't remember the last time a man caused such an immediate reaction from her body. Yes, I can. Never! Well, let's be honest. Maybe one other time, but that man was in Angelo's employ.

  Out from under Martone's razzle-dazzle, she could finally admit the lack of sexual pull between the two of them. Handsome in the manner of wealthy, well-schooled, dark-haired, dark-eyed Italian men, Angelo oozed an almost hypnotic, dominating presence. He'd impressed her with his brilliant conversation, his philanthropic efforts to prevent small-town libraries from closing their doors, his support for children's literacy programs in underprivileged communities.

  Yeah, and he probably never actually had any interest in libraries or helping kids learn to read. After she had time to think over the situation, she suspected that he'd checked her out, then devised opportunities to convince her that he could be her hero. Think of what we could accomplish together, bella mia, he'd said, as a team. Imagine the good we could do.

  And she'd bought into it, hook, line, and sinker. Caught up in the excitement. Caught up in the museum galas and art exhibit openings, the benefits and fund-raisers. She believed his bullshit.

  Did you really believe it, or did you find it easier not to examine what he offered too closely? She asked herself, honestly, why? Why me? She cleaned up well, she knew how to dress and present herself in public, was reasonably well read, kept up on the news, could hold her own in social situations. But I'm really nothing more than a minnow swimming frantically in a school of sharks. The bottom of the society food chain. So, why me?

  Martone insisted that they delay being intimate, as he referred to having sex, until they were married. I prefer the old-fashioned way, he'd said. She told Angelo that she wasn't a virgin. He said it didn't matter, she would be a virgin to him. At first, she considered the idea sweet, romantic. But, since she was being honest, the wait-until-the-wedding-night bullshit had begun to niggle at her.

  Martone had been generous to a fault. He flew her parents in from the West Coast, first class, for the lavish—ostentatious, really—engagement party. He'd taken an unused sitting room in his mansion, turned it into her own library, He made a big deal of telling her mother the room was his special engagement gift to April. While April showed her parents the sights in New York City, they'd been headquartered in premier suites at the luxurious Paramount.

  Her father, a gentle soul who would have lived comfortably in a hippy commune in another life, thought Martone's attentions were impressive. Her mother smiled a winning social smile, then took April aside.

  "Here's some mad money, dear. Tuck it away. And remember where your home is." Mom handed her an envelope with three thousand dollars in small, used bills. "Just in case," she'd said. "Just in case."

  Thanks, Mom. What did you pick up on that I didn't?

  What no one knew was that, without April's knowledge or approval, Angelo had arranged for all her books and collectibles to be moved to the new library. Okay, so maybe that wasn't so awful. It seemed like a generous gesture. Also without her knowledge, Martone moved her personal belongings to his huge house. He put her furniture into storage, then arranged to sub-let her apartment. That part was not so cool. She'd been annoyed, but hadn't yet copped to the danger. Hadn't felt the noose tightening.

  In essence, he'd left her without possessions. Then, she realized he'd effectively cut her off from friends, then family. Left her without a base to call home. That's when her Spidey senses had begun to tingle. But, gullible fool that I am, I still didn't get it.

  April fought the urge to tiptoe down the hall to Glennon's bedroom, to slip into his bed, to fall into the strength, the safety of his embrace. Forget it, don't humiliate yourself. You're damaged goods. Look at the way this man lives. He doesn't need you. You have nothing he wants.

  * * * * *

  Friday morning, later

  When he finally woke, Glennon felt remarkably refreshed. That was odd, since he hadn't caught much sleep.

  He moved around the small but efficient kitchen, cooked breakfast, set the table.

  With all in readiness, he strolled down the hall to April's room, knocked. When he didn't hear anything, he cracked the door a few inches. "Rise and shine. Breakfast.

  Hello?"

  "Ready. Coming."

  He pushed the door open the rest of the way, could see partly into the bathroom.

  He noticed a towel draped over the vanity mirror. April exited the bathroom and tried to pull the door closed behind her.

  Forcing his way through, Glennon saw another towel draped over the full-length mirror behind the door.

  "April, is there a problem?"

  * * * * *

  A problem? No problem. No problem, until April offered to help Angelo's greens keeper in the cavernous potting shed at the rear of the estate. No problem until she had good rich earth on her hands, smeared on her T-shirt and jeans. The smell and feel of the dark soil was happily familiar to her, a sweet reminder of her parents' farm and nursery. No problem, until her fiancé found her, dragged her indoors, up to the master bedroom suite, then forced her to stand in front of the full-length mirrors.

  "Look at yourself. You look like street trash. Who would want to fuck you? Who would even want to be near you?"

  No problem, until he grabbed her face, forced her to look at herself in the mirror's reflection. She'd watched her own tears track through the smudges on her cheeks as he glared at her. No problem, until he shoved her hard enough to send her crashing to her knees, then stormed out of the room, muttering in obvious disgust.

  April dropped her head; her shoulders drooped. "No problem."

  Glennon took her face into his hands. "Tell me."

  "It's nothing, really. Nothing I can't handle." And please don't push any more.

  * * * * *

  Glennon removed the towel from the vanity mirror. He turned her to face their reflection, stepped close, so she could feel his body against hers. April tried to bolt when his arms circled her waist, but he held her firmly. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the feel of her small, taut body. She can use a couple of pounds. I need to feed her up.

  "Hon, if you don't want to look, then at least let me enjoy the sight of you."

  Unbidden, tears flowed down April's cheeks, but she made no sound. She turned into his chest. He just held her, as her warm tears soaked his shirt. The tears made him uncomfortable, but he had no sweet phrases, no sensitive words to make her feel better.

  He could only offer his strength, his body, his protection.

  "You never need to hide from me, do you understand?" His tone was strong, but not demanding.

  "April?" He rested his chin on the top of her head. "Do you hear me?"

  He felt a barely perceptible nod. "There is no need to hide from me, not ever. I will never hurt you."

  Releasing her, he turned back to the vanity. He covered the mirror with the same towel she'd used. He looked at his reflection behind the door. Instead of covering it again, he opened the door wide enough to hide the mirror. As Glennon removed himself from what he already considered to be her room, he heard her soft voice.

  "Thank you."

  Those simple words twisted his heart in his chest. What else had she suffered at Martone's hands? And why did he feel compelled to make it all better? It's not your responsibility, man. Don't get caught up in the stray cat syndrome.

  He shook it off. "April, her
e's today's drill. At eleven o'clock, you have an appointment here in the penthouse with Roberto, who will attempt to do something with your hair."

  He caught the frown, but ignored her. "Honest. You'll feel better when Roberto the Magician is finished with you. I promise."

  Chapter Three

  Monday

  Bright and early Monday morning, after a quick slapdash breakfast, Glennon accompanied April to the floor below the penthouse, to the GMG control center and the brains of his business. He gave her the tour, explained what he and his crew did. The last door opened to the just-for-show office and meeting room, where he usually met his clients. He faced her, leaned against the desk.

  He kept his voice conversational, tried not to spook her. "I have an appointment with a prospective client at one o'clock. I'd like you to hang out here."

  "Are you worried about leaving me? You said I would be safe. All the security protection and your men and everything."

  He couldn't prevent the smile. "Trust me, I'm not worried about unauthorized personnel breaching the walls of the castle. I'm more concerned that you may decide you can't live without fresh coffee and pastries from the bakery across the street."

  He watched the blush of pink reach her cheeks. Damn, she's such a pretty little thing. "Look. I'll make you a deal. If you agree to stay here without a fuss, I'll send out for coffee and a pile of sandwiches and pastries for brunch. Will that work?" He raised an eyebrow, tried for his Johnny Depp/Captain Jack Sparrow look.

  "Please, don't take one of your men away from his job. I don't want to be a nuisance."

  "Are you kidding? Fresh coffee and food we don't need to nuke in the microwave? You'll be their savior, their heroine. I need to go upstairs to change, so give Jack your order. He'll see to the food. Don't wander away. I'll be back shortly."

  At precisely12:55 p.m., Glennon returned. He'd traded his jeans and GMG polo shirt for black slacks, a black v-neck sweater, gray sports jacket, and his favorite black Ralph Lauren boots.